Because the holidays are here, and alcohol is around every corner…I think it appropriate and proactive to retell of my last drunk. It’s not a happy story. Ha. Is hitting rock bottom ever happy or pretty? I suppose the “awakening” that comes with hitting bottom is beautiful, but I can promise you it is not happy times. Ugh, I am hesitant to even begin this tale. Such misery accompanies my crash landing at ground zero. It was inevitable. I had gone out after work on the afternoon of September 28, 2012 with a friend for drinks. Up to that day, I’d been drinking wine most nights and not just a glass…a bottle or more. I tried my first beer at 19 and it was heaven in a can. So there I am, 15 years later, sitting in a wine bar with my friend, drunk texting a male acquaintance. I’m married with two little girls. The friend advises against staying out any longer, but will not drive me home. I order more drinks and more…while waiting on the male “friend” to show. My girlfriend left with a kiss on the cheek and a “get home safe” plea. She calls my husband to let him know I’m still out drinking. Basically it’s the saddest most pathetic tale in history. Although I’m never arrested for DUI miraculously, never put in a jail cell, never have lost a job, I have come within an inch of losing everything and everyone I most cherish on this earth. I wish I could say I only have the one tale of betrayal to the man I love, but in the course of my drinking days I tested the limits of our relationship’s strength many many times. This tale of rock bottom though was the one and only time I ever crossed the line while married and a mother. Alas, this male arrives and finds it utterly fantastic that his “Dream Girl” is wasted and out to ruin her life. What luck! He keeps me drunk and entertains my stupidity. Finally we are alone in his vehicle. I make an ass of myself like no other before me or since. I seduce him in my alcoholic stupor, rubbing, kissing, sloppy selfish infantile antics. Part of my soul died a bit that night because the worst kind of disease destroys its victims heart and soul with debasement and debauchery. It was an out of body experience, alien abduction of my faculties and my values. Fortunately, at every rock bottom, a glimmer of grace may break through the dark if you are lucky and I was. A police officer stopped the male’s vehicle while I was busying debasing myself on his lap. “Mam are you alright?” Asked the officer as he peered in the driver’s window. The grace I speak of, divine intervention for which I had no business receiving at the time, hit me squarely in the head. I began to cry and in that second, that God-given moment of truth, I viewed myself from outside. A woman with an addiction, fit to give away all her blessings and spit in the face of graciousness. My world turned on its axis and I knew. I knew without any doubt. I would never drink alcohol again. Had this angel of an officer not peaked into the window of this male’s car that night, I may not be here writing this miserable story. In fact, I remind myself of the turmoil I felt the following day; the lie that fought to stay buried but for my salvation could not remain under the rug. As anyone who has ever slammed hard into rock bottom knows, the following morning is significantly the worst day of your life. And the best. For in its wake lies my sobriety. My shining tribute to all that is holy and good and worthwhile. I am eternally grateful for that awful night. Without it, I may have participated in even more disgraceful and despicable acts, lost even more than a night, lost a husband and daughters and ultimately, you can be sure, my life. Too precious to me now, this life that I’ve been gifted. It is with sincere thanks that I offer up my life each day, an empty pot to be filled.